


Music of the Night

by larinia713



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larinia713/pseuds/larinia713
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt enjoys listening to the music filtering in through his window after a stressful day at work.  Sebastian plays the violin to escape reality for short moments of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ficlet inspired by the wonderful art of Soseinen on tumblr. The art is posted with permission. Check out her 100 themes tag.
> 
> Here are her tags that led to this ficlet: #THEY HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY MET JUST QUICK HELLOS IN THE HALLWAY #KURT DOESN'T KNOW IT'S SEBASTIAN WHO GIVES HIM THOSE MOMENTS OF PEACE #SEBASTIAN DOESN'T KNOW THAT EVERY NIGHT KURT LISTENS HIM PLAY #UNTIL ONE DAY THEY MEET:)

  
His head had been killing him since 2 o’clock today.  A last minute emergency had Kurt reworking an entire 6 page layout that was due for approval by 8.  Never in his life had he hated his job more than when other people were unaccountable for their own tardiness.

Needless to say, Kurt had to fire someone today as it was not the first time this had happened.  Then he had to do the work himself.  Thankfully Isabelle offered a little bit of help before she had to leave for a meeting with Anna. 

Six years in at Vogue.com had Kurt feeling at the top of the world with how far he had advanced.  And other times it felt like he had to dig and scrape till his fingers bled to get a quality project submitted.  At least it was over now.  Well, at least till next month’s projects were due.

Kurt sighed as he unlocked the door to his tiny apartment; Chinese takeout in one hand and keys jingling in the lock just right to get it to open in the other. All he wanted to do was woof down his food, make a cup of chamomile tea and sit at his window near the fire escape and hope that his maestro would be playing again tonight.

His feet hurt, his shoulders ached with how heavy his shoulder bag was with all the new looks to go through for the next layout, and even after eating and taking some aspirin his head still throbbed weakly.  The music never failed to make Kurt relax though.  Somewhere close to him, someone played a violin out in the open air. 

The first night Kurt had spent in his apartment two years ago, he heard it.  It was soft and whimsical and matched his own joy of living in his own space for the first time.

It wasn’t always light and joyous though.  Sometimes it was angry and harsh, but always beautiful.  Kurt wondered what happened that day to the violinist that he or she would pick the music they did for that particular night.

No matter the season Kurt had listened to no less than 16 private concerts in the last two years.  Some matched his mood perfectly, while others soothed his soul.  He wished that he could know this wonderful musician, thank them for their playing. 

_One day,_  Kurt thought.   _One day I will find out who my musician is and thank them._

* * *

Sebastian had always loved playing.  It helped him with his insecurities when he was younger and his parents were divorcing.  Later it helped him work out his emotions when he realized that he wasn’t like the other boys in his classes that talked about how much they like girls.  And as recently as last year, it helped him relieve stress from studying for his LSAT. 

He remembered the first time that he played out on his fire escape.  It was when his father died.  He didn’t know how to express himself in the moment. The call was a complete shock.  So he took his violin out and stood against the night and played. 

To this day, Sebastian doesn’t remember what piece he played that night.  He only remembered hoping that one of his neighbors wouldn’t call the cops on him. 

For three nights in a row he played out on the fire escape.  Confusion, anger, sorrow, regret; all flowing through his bow as his fingers found note after note before his flight to Paris for the funeral.  No one ever said anything to him about his playing; he never received any notes on his door or shouts from windows.

When he got back a week later, he decided to share his musical ability more. Sebastian never took his playing in public beyond his grade school recitals.  He never played in the orchestra in high school; it was just something for him. Until now.

Sebastian remembered bumping into a new tenant who was loaded down with boxes when he arrived home with a drawn face and slightly puffy eyes.  The man looked elegant even in torn and fade jeans and a slightly sweaty t-shirt. Sebastian noticed that his hair was still carefully styled even though he had obviously been hauling his belongings all day.  They greeted each other and revealed first names that would soon be forgotten due to lack of contact.

That night he pulled out his violin and played Holst’s Venus and thought of the new neighbor.  He thought of his vivid blue eyes and light, lyrical voice.  It was the best Sebastian had felt in close to two weeks.

For two years he had been playing and hoping that someone was listening. Hoping that someone was taking comfort in the music like he was.  Some days the he would play bright, airy pieces.  Others he would play hard, almost warlike dirges.

Either way, it made him happy after he finished; knowing that someone somewhere could hear him.

* * *

Sebastian hadn’t played for over a month.  The summer afternoon rain showers were not good for his violin, so he had avoided anything that would do damage to it.  Now he was due to play. 

He had spent most of the day hunched over a massive desk at one of NYU’s libraries covered with tons of law and reference books.  Never would he have known that the bag he carried home full of notes and homework was just as heavy as his soon-to-be listener’s.

Sebastian stretched his arms out and over his head to release the tension in his back and to help him stand straighter.  He stepped out of his window and firmly planted his feet before raising his violin to tuck it on his shoulder.

As he played, he closed his eyes and swayed with the movement of his arm as it passed the bow across the strings.  His fingers moved with the ease of hours upon hours of repetition.  He lost himself and found clarity at the same time.

The piece didn’t last long; it was less than 10 minutes.  But it was enough to clear his head enough so that he would be able to sleep that night. 

Just as he was about to crawl back into his apartment, Sebastian noticed someone step out onto the fire escape. 

He watched as his downstairs neighbor turned slightly.  And then it struck Sebastian. 

_He had a listener!_   Someone listened to him play.  And that someone was the beautiful man who moved in and made Sebastian play again with a meaning, a purpose. 

He couldn’t remember his name, but he remembered the polite smiles while passing each other while checking mail or sharing an elevator.

The man looked relaxed from Sebastian’s perspective and he hoped that it was because of him and his music.  He watched on, looking for any clues. 

It seemed like he was waiting for more.  Almost as if Sebastian had started something to him that in his listener’s mind wasn’t yet finished.  So Sebastian raised his instrument one more time while looking down through the grates to gauge his reaction.

As soon as the first note played the man turned looking for the music.  Once his ears honed in on him, he turned and stared back through the mass of rusted iron painted in several layers of black.  The serene smile Sebastian received let him know it was all worth it. 

He smiled back and knew that as soon as he was done, he would climb the steps down and shake the man’s hand again.  And this time, he would remember his name.


End file.
